


Up Above the Weather

by Lady_of_Winterfell



Series: Fight Me? [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Werewolves Are Known, Angst, Attempt at Humor, Developing Relationship, Feelings, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Sick Character, Sick Stiles Stilinski, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-30
Updated: 2017-02-07
Packaged: 2018-08-27 21:39:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8417830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_of_Winterfell/pseuds/Lady_of_Winterfell
Summary: "I've honestly just been grinning like an idiot every time I thought about you asking me out," Stiles gushed, "It's… hard to believe, honestly. I'm so annoying—”"True,” Derek agreed.or where Stiles has cystic fibrosis and begins dating the new werewolf nurse at the hospital.Sequel to Fight Me





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Right, so the sequel to [Fight Me](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7497642) (that you should totally read to get this, but I guess you can just jump in if you want). Titled after Reeve Carney's song "Up Above the Weather" and originally planned to get out a few weeks after the first fic but _college_ happened out of nowhere, so here I am, in October.
> 
> If you haven't read the first fic, Stiles has cystic fibrosis (look it up) with a kind of low life expectancy, Derek is a nurse at the hospital, Derek asks him out. Not completely accurate depiction of the disease, but I've done some research so I've tried my best and will most likely edit periodically (though I've kinda modeled Stiles' sickness _slightly_ after the character of Emma Decody from the tv show Bates Motel, which prompted me to write the first fic originally). 
> 
> The first chapter is fluffy af. The next few are kinda... not.
> 
> So that's it, I guess. Thanks for reading, hope you like it. All mistakes are my own.  
> I also have a new tumblr in case any of you wanna contact me there. [JuggiesJournal](https://juggiesjournal.tumblr.com/)

Stiles could hardly stop himself from smiling at the Styrofoam cup in his hands. Filled with only low quality caffeine, the messy number scribed on it redeemed its value. A number that belonged to a certain werewolf. He could hardly believe his luck! As he stared down at the cup with a ridiculous, goofy grin on his face, he waited for his dad to come and take him home. But that had gotten old fairly quickly.

Stiles was restless. Bored from the previous week of being holed up in bed, the addition of Derek didn’t help the situation. He tried distracting himself by texting Scott, but the other boy had to stop replying when he started his first class. This left Stiles to his own devices. Devices which consisted of sitting in the empty hospital room and picking at a Styrofoam cup. Eventually he got a better idea than just staring longingly at the inanimate object. Standing up from his bed, he set out to find the wolf himself. 

It didn't take long at all. Derek was still going from patient to patient, so it only took a few short minutes of roaming through the halls until Stiles found (and cornered) him. 

"Hey! Derek, the, um, the coffee thing—super cute, by the way, like a rom-com—uh, you wanna go out? With me?" He asked, words tumbling out of his mouth. He was excited (and surprisingly nervous), bouncing on his heels with the cup still in hand. He needed validation, for Derek to _actually_ confirm that this was happening. Derek, taken by surprise raised his eyebrows, then nodded.

"I wouldn't have written my number otherwise," was Derek's response, snark visible. Stiles noted the smart ass tone in his voice, but was fine with it nonetheless. He continued on.

"Yeah! Right, so you wanna go out, tonight, maybe? I can blow off Lydia's party!" He was too excited, he realized. He backtracked. "I mean, it doesn't _have_ to be tonight. It's not like I'm desperate!" He absolutely was, but upon further speculation, he realized he didn't need to be. He'd already won Derek over (though he didn’t know _how_ ), he didn’t need to keep trying. But of course he didn't realize that until much later.

There was a bit of a pause, making Stiles’ heart race anxiously, then Derek finally gave him an answer.

"I can't tonight." Derek said. He knew it would be best for Stiles to go to the party. The boy had been sulking about it the whole week, so he’d rather not have him change his plans for him to fit into them. But he didn't voice any of that and Stiles tried not to look disappointed. 

“Right, that’s cool,” Stiles said. Derek caught the small falter in his smile, though, and continued. 

"I work late tonight. You might as well go to the party, I know you want to." Stiles nodded and Derek began to walk away. 

Before he could get too far, though, Stiles called out, "Can I text you?" 

"Obviously," Derek told him without looking back. Stiles smiled to himself as he thought about how good his day was turning out to be, then made his way back into his room.

The Sheriff came a short while later to take Stiles home, speaking to his doctor briefly before they left. On the ride home, The Sheriff noticed the strange look on his son’s face and the peculiar silence that filled the air. He wasn’t used to his son being so distracted, especially not with something that drove him to being _quiet_. Alarms immediately went off in his head and he tried to think of the best way of assessing the situation. In the end, since Stiles was his _son_ and _not_ a suspect of a crime, he settled on a simple question: "What's on your mind, kiddo?"

Stiles' eyes lit up at the question. Soon his mouth began running a mile a minute with all of the thoughts about Derek he'd been keeping to himself. The Sheriff listened, furrowing his brows and squinting his eyes (as he always did when he tried to process new information). Though He’d interrupt his son if he skimmed over a detail he didn't quite like ("Wait, wait, wait, he's _how_ old?”). Stiles didn't mind, didn't even notice the slight disapproval in his father's questions. He was still too hung up on the events of that morning and the coffee cup he was still clutching in his hand.

The Sheriff dropped Stiles off at home and made him take his pills and something to eat before he had to report back to the station. The first thing Stiles did when he was alone was go to the bathroom to pour out that terrible coffee. The second thing he did was go up to his room and sit the empty cup on his nightstand, putting it on display like the holy grail it turned out to be. Then he lied down on his bed, curling into his blanket as he felt himself grow tired, and began to text Derek before he falling asleep

Scott met Stiles at his house to head to Lydia's at around nine o’clock that night. Scott had come there on his motorcycle, much to Stiles' confusion since they were taking his Jeep.But Scott's only excuse was "You never know," which was a bit too ominous for Stiles to try and decipher. He let it go.

The two of them, well, _three_ of them had a good time. Kira met up with them about half an hour after they arrived at Lydia’s. Scott tried to divide his attention between the two of them, but Stiles wasn’t one for third wheeling and left the two to themselves. He spent his time wandering around Lydia's huge house, basking in the fact that, _wow_ , this was a party and, _shit_ , he was actually invited, and that _fuck_ , a hot werewolf had asked him out! This was a good day for Stiles.

He didn’t spend the whole time basking in his good fortune, though. He talked to people, too. There was Danny (the senior everybody loved), Liam (a sophomore on the lacrosse team with Scott), and Jackson (kind of). He was an ass to everyone—especially Scott—but he was always a bit nicer to Stiles than most. He figured it was because he was the sick kid. He didn’t mind. 

He even managed to spend some time with Lydia that night. She was a bit drunk, but elegant as always (though her words were a bit slurred). She hugged him tightly and told him how happy she was that he actually made it. 

The two found somewhere to sit and talk, a secluded corner by a bay window in a room very few people were occupying. They talked for awhile, and at some point the two shared an awkward, intoxicated kiss. Stiles laughed off and then told her he kind of had a thing with a werewolf (“If only you’d done that last week, though!”). They ended up talking about Derek for another 20 minutes. It was a good time.

Stiles enjoyed himself. He drank in moderation and danced with Lydia and, eventually, he texted Derek again. He sent him stupid flirty messages, told him how much fun he was having, and playfully told him to come find him. Sometime after midnight, when Stiles was laying over both Scott and Kira's laps by the pool as the three of them planned out their future together. Kira would go to USF, Scott and Stiles were narrowing down their options between living in Berkeley or Oakton after graduation (and Stiles, for once, didn't mention anything about dying). That was when Scott said, "Isn't that Derek?"

Stiles sat up and, yes, in slightly blurred vision, there was Derek by the back gate. Instead of wearing his blue hospital scrubs that Stiles had become accustomed to, he was wearing dark jeans, a black v-neck, and a leather jacket. 

"God, he's so hot," Stiles blurted, clumsily getting off of his friends to make his way over to the werewolf.

"Derek! Hey, you came!" He said excitedly, head spinning a bit at the fact that everything was going _so good_ for him today.

"You asked me to," Derek said simply, clarifying nothing at all. Stiles raised his eyebrows.

"Wow, I didn't think you'd actually do it. I didn't know we were on a Dean-Cas basis," Stiles commented with a snort.

"What?" Derek asked, confused.

" _Supernatural_? Tv show? Gayest couple on tv—Whatever, hey," He smiled and grabbed his hand. "What do you wanna do? I mean, it's kinda late. I should get home—but I can stay out later, if you want. As late as you want, even!" Stiles vaguely realized he was beginning to sound desperate again, but he didn’t care as much this time. He was enjoying himself.

"You're drunk." Derek stated when he smelled the alcohol on Stiles’ breath. He began to rethink the whole situation. Stiles scoffed.

"Not even. Well, _yeah_ , maybe, but only kinda. Not _hardly_ , actually. I don't drink a lot, so it _seems_ like I'm drunk, but I'm just, I don't know, a little buzzed. I'm fine," He assured the werewolf, not letting go of his hand at all.

"You're not driving drunk," Derek told him, disregarding everything Stiles had just said, or at least not taking the boy seriously.

"But I'm not—"

"He's right, Stiles, you're not driving drunk!" Came Scott's panicked voice from behind him as he and Kira approached the two of them. Scott and Stiles shared a look as Kira looked on at them with curiosity. Stiles gave a nod of understanding and patted his friend’s shoulder sympathetically, a silent compliance. 

"I haven't drank anything so, I can take your Jeep, take Kira home, then drop it off at your place tomorrow. Derek's taking you home," Scott informed everyone, saying it as more of a final plan rather than an option. He held out his hand to Derek. "Hi, I'm Scott."

"My husband," Stiles added as the two shook hands.

"And this is my girlfriend Kira," she waved shyly at Derek, who looked at her oddly. Her eyes widened a bit and the two of them then shared a look that both Scott and Stiles noticed. Before an awkward silence could go on for too long, though, Stiles began talking again.

"Right, it's settled, so we can go, Sourwolf. Like, anywhere. Anytime, do anything—"

"He's seventeen, please don't do anything," Scott interjected with a groan.

"Eighteen next month," Stiles added quickly, cheeks heating up at the fact that he was indeed still a minor, which made this slightly weirder. Derek shrugged it off.

"Believe me, I won't," Derek assured, and Stiles wasn't sure if he should feel offended at that or not. Derek looked at Stiles, "You ready to go?" Stiles nodded, pushing the thought out of his head and hurrying behind Derek as he walked to his car.

 

Inside Derek's camaro, Stiles felt his heart speed up. He wished it didn’t do that and tried to think of everything he could to calm himself, but this was getting serious now. _Derek_ —the hot, older, werewolf nurse that was even hotter in a leather jacket—had asked him out, gave him his number, and picked him up in his own car _after_ Stiles had jokingly asked him to come find him. Stiles was starting to grasp how real this actually was. He was pretty sure this might be a date, too, which was a big deal. And (despite him protesting his drunkenness) he was under the influence. 

Those facts made this situation one where Stiles felt he needed to panic. And in that panic his heart only beat faster when he took into consideration that, _shit_ , Derek's a werewolf. He could hear it.

"Hey," Derek said when he began driving. "Calm down," Derek took Stiles by the hand and Stiles's cheeks began to redden, but his heart did slow to a casual pace. At least a casual pace for him. 

"So, uh," he cleared his throat, attempting to get his bearings back (and also not to cough). "Is this our date?" He couldn't help but ask, curiosity and more need for validation getting the better of him.

"Do you want it to be?" Derek asked in return, thinking it meant more for Stiles to decide what this was in order to calm his nerves. Stiles had to think it over. Stiles would have loved for this to be a date, but he also wanted to be his usual, sarcastic, annoying self. With the anxiety he was feeling right now, he definitely wasn’t going to get there. 

"Uh, yeah. But, like a practice date, yeah? Like I said, I'm a little buzzed, so I don't wanna be, like, sloppy or anything, y’know?" Derek scoffed. 

"Everything I’ve seen you do so far has been sloppy, I doubt you can do any worse tonight." Point taken. Stiles changed the subject.

"So, where we going?" He asked, vaguely aware that Derek was still holding his hand. "Bunny hunting in the woods?" Stiles teased, but realized that might’ve sounded a bit prejudice, "I mean—that was a joke! A stupid one, I didn't mean it literally. See—this is why this can't be a date date, I'm too—"

"It's fine," Derek assured him, not letting the comment phase him. "But we can go to the woods if you want."

Stiles looked at him incredulously. “Won't other wolves be running around?"

"Maybe. It's not a full moon, but sometimes they'll be around..." Stiles only nodded, content not to say anything else in fear of being insulting.

Derek drove them through the woods and parked the car in a clearing atop a cliff that overlooked the town with a bright view of the half moon. Stiles got out and sat on the hood of Derek's car and looked out at the shining lights.

"It looks really big, doesn't it? Up here,” Derek looked up at the sky at Stiles’ question.

“The moon? Yeah, nothing compared to when it’s full, though,” Stiles shook his head.

“No, the town. Our town's really small, but seeing all these lights... it's practically a metropolis." Stiles hummed contently as Derek sat down next to him. "Scott and I used to come up here all the time. When we were younger we used to sneak out here and wander around. Watch some of the wolves, follow my dad out here, try to solve some murders— basically have our own little adventures. Scott even almost got bit once when we were sophomores. Luckily, my dad stepped in and saved him before it happened. It was crazy… We were grounded forever, but we still used to sneak here after dark. I haven't been here in a while, though."

"Why?" Derek questioned, slightly curious. 

"…Scott stopped coming after Allison died and… I didn’t want to be by myself." Taking note of the somber tone in Stiles' voice, Derek wisely changed the subject. 

"You take your pills?" That was the first thought that came to his head. Stiles chuckled.

"Of _course_ I did, Derek. I'm not going to put myself _back_ in the hospital the second I get out," he laughed. "You don't have to be my nurse all the time, dude."

"Okay," was all Derek said, leading them into a silence.

"I like this," Stiles said, unable to be comfortable with it. "This has been a great day for me. Seriously, _nothing_ could bring me down today. I've been grinning like an idiot every time I thought about you asking me out," he blushed. "It's… hard to believe, honestly. I'm so annoying—”

"True,” Derek agreed.

"And you're so stoic and all…” he gestured blindly in Derek’s direction, “model status." He finished, then abruptly turned to look at the werewolf. The dark, ruggedly handsome, werewolf. This didn’t make any sense to him."Why'd you ask me out?" 

Derek had an answer for that. Stiles’ stay in the hospital was more than telling for Derek. He’d experienced his wit and sarcasm and his inability to shut up, but he’d also seen something deeper. How he puts on a strong face—albeit a goofy one—to make those he cared about smile. That he can see past, what Stiles considers, his unattractive appearance and can see the stronger guy that he actually is underneath that sarcastic facade. That he’s more than just his disease, which he has a hard time not mentioning. 

But he didn't voice any of that, deciding it best not to let Stiles know that he knew what he didn’t want him to. So he settled for saying, "Because I wanted to," an answer he'd given before that brought a small, knowing grin to Stiles’ face.

"Bullshit answer,” Stiles teased, gently pushing Derek away as he remember their conversation a few nights ago. He was dissatisfied, but decided he didn’t need a straight answer right now. He didn’t want the night to be ruined if it turned out to be one he didn’t like.“Will you ever not be a bullshitter?" Derek shrugged and Stiles laughed, coughing a small bit at the end and making Derek tense a little. "Don't worry, dude," he said when he noticed the slight change in Derek's posture. "I'm not gonna fall over and die right now."

"Stop saying stuff like that,” Derek warned. That wasn’t the darkest thing Stiles had said to him, but he knew how quickly the conversation could segway.

"I kissed Lydia,” Stiles admitted, changing the subject completely. Stiles didn't say it like a guilty confession, though. Instead saying it as casually as he would anything else.

"You—wait, what?" Derek backtracked.

Stiles laughed. "Well, _she_ kissed _me_. I think, I don’t remember. Kinda drunk. A pity kiss, probably, but it was satisfying. _Awkward_ , yeah, but you could say everything I do falls in that category.”

Derek scoffed. "You're right, this couldn't have been a first date. You're not supposed to say things like that to the guy who gives you his number," Stiles smirked.

"You jealous?" He teased.

"Believe me, I'm not." Derek deadpanned.

"I don't know, man, you sound pretty jelly to me. Afraid she won me over?" Stiles was amusing himself. Derek rolled his eyes.

"If she really ‘won you over’, you wouldn't be here.” Stiles silently admitted that he had a point, but found it better to not acknowledge it. 

"Guess we'll never know," he shrugged. "But the whole leather jacket thing definitely brought me back. It goes along with your whole ‘thing’.” Derek raised an eyebrow, Stiles explained. “Your broody thing! Your whole look! The bad boy werewolf or whatever you're going for." He chuckled, then hummed contently and continued looking out over the horizon. "I like this," Stiles started again, though his voice noticeably took on a more serious tone. "It's probably not hard to figure out, but nobody's ever asked me out before. And—despite whatever your reasoning is—just… thank you." 

Derek didn't know what to say to that. He moved past it. "So _that_ was your first kiss? With Lydia?" It was Stiles’ turn to roll his eyes.

" _No_ , I've kissed people before, I'm not _that_ much of a loser. But those were situational and… not a date." Stiles checked his phone, feeling a bit embarrassed at his lack of experience. A wolf’s howl was heard in the distance, Derek rolled his eyes, recognizing the howl. Stiles smiled. "Friend of yours?"

"Not necessarily,” Derek said. Stiles took note of the word “necessarily.” He didn't want to know what he meant by that. He looked down at his phone again.

"You should take me home,” Stiles didn't want to go home, “my dad's sending worried text." With that he got back in the car, Derek following his lead. Again Stiles was aware that the wolf could sense his discomfort. Derek didn't bring it up this time. Stiles told him the directions to his house and, after a few minutes of silence, Stiles shared his critiques of the latest season of _Game of Thrones_.

 

When they arrived at Stiles’ house, they sat parked in front of it. A few moments went by with neither of them doing anything, Stiles not moving to get out or Derek pressing him to do so. The two of them just looked at each other trying to think of what to say. Stiles thought of something first.

"So, when do you think we can go on a real date?" He asked curiously, a sly smile on his face. "You know, so we can do real stuff." Derek blinked.

"Real stuff?" He asked.

"Yeah. You know. _stuff_ " Stiles teased, playfully hitting Derek’s arm and giving him a bit of a knowing look. Derek gave a short laugh.

"When you're eighteen," Derek clarified, shutting whatever suggestion the boy had down quickly. Stiles' face fell.

"Really?" he asked incredulously.

"Your birthday's next month,” Derek reminded.

"Yeah, but I'm seventeen. Waiting makes it feel like that's practically _light years_ from now."

"We haven’t even had a first date.”

"But—okay, yeah. I'll see you before that though, right?" Stiles’ voice was a bit higher pitched with that question, slightly afraid he’d ruined whatever they had before it even started.

"Of course,” Derek assured him, easing Stiles’ nerves.

"Good,” Stiles breathed, “And we can do other stuff in the meantime," he smirked.

Derek raised an eyebrow. "Like?"

"Go to the movies."

"Right."

"Or just watch Netflix," Stiles grinned.

"Sure,"

"And _chill_!" 

"Goodnight, Stiles," Derek said, though he had an amused smile on his face.

"Fine, Sourwolf. This is what I get for seeing an older man," he snorted. "So yeah… goodnight," Stiles moved slowly, intentionally taking his time unbuckling his seatbelt and gripping the door handle.

"Wait," Derek stopped him before he could he got out of the car. Stiles let out a sigh of relief.

"Thank God. I really thought you weren't going to kiss me," the boy admitted. Derek rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, at the speed you were moving, you were obviously waiting for something."

"Oh, shut up, dude," Stiles scoffed, then they both leaned in. Derek pressed his lips against Stiles' gently and felt as the boy held his breath, as if a reflex, and place his skinny fingers on the back of his neck. Then they broke apart and Stiles had that stupid smile on his face that he'd told Derek about earlier.

"Okay, fine. You won me back from Lydia." Derek actually laughed at the statement. 

"Oh really?"

"Yeah. Absolutely no contest. You must have been practicing. Who else you been kissing tonight?"

"Goodnight, Stiles," he said again, this time not stopping Stiles as he exited the car, waving goodbye to Derek before he unlocked the front door to his house. Stiles walked inside to see his father waiting for him on the sofa, a strange expression on his face as he looked at his son. He asked Stiles how his night went and subsequently spent the next half hour hearing of the party, but mostly Derek, and decided that he needed to get a hold of and talk to this werewolf as Stiles sounded more entranced with him with every sentence.


	2. Chapter 2

Occasionally, Stiles’ oxygen count dipped from time to time. He noticed this when he was younger, somewhere during the transition between eighth grade and high school. He'd be in gym class or playing outside with Scott and realize he'd be too short of breath to keep up with the other boy. He didn't tell his father about it until the fourth time he'd woken up in the middle of the night wide eyed and gasping for air.

Ever since then he'd used oxygen for whenever he slept or exercised. Though no one was a hundred percent sure he actually did the latter. A young Stiles was too embarrassed to go out in public and do any physical activity with an oxygen mask connected to him. He was very private about his oxygen use, it being one of the few things he was insecure about showing. He even went as far as not using it on nights when Scott slept over. But in his spare time he did what he needed. He did his airway clearance techniques and took his mucus thinning pills and figured he was as healthy as he was going to get. 

That was until The Sheriff took him back to Beacon Hills Memorial. Two weeks after Lydia's party and a week before his own birthday. That was when Stiles' doctor told him that his oxygen count was low. Extremely low, even, for him to be resting. Stiles panicked.

"Please don't suggest what I think you're going to," he told his doctor with a bit of an edge in his voice. "Because I'm not gonna walk around with an oxygen tank strapped to me like I'm _fucking_ Hazel Grace!" 

This then led to an argument between him and his father as the doctor stepped out of the room to let them "discuss.” The “discussion” turned out to be Stiles yelling so loudly that Derek didn't even need to be a werewolf to hear it from the next ward over. 

In the end, there wasn't a choice, but Stiles knew that from the beginning. And just like that Stiles ended up spending his birthday alone in his bedroom, staring at himself in the mirror as he toyed with the nasal cannula attached to his nose. Not a sight unfamiliar to him in the slightest, he had to put the wires around his head and breathe into it every night. It was just that now there was so much… daylight. Stiles had never gone outside with his oxygen tank and now he was being forced to—forever. This was not a good day for him.

Stiles tried to perk himself up about his situation. He really did, but aside from the assistance in living, there weren't many upsides that came with the can attached to him. So his mind wandered toward the negatives. The fact that this meant his health was deteriorating more than he'd like—faster than he'd expected. That this was going to give him more unwanted attention in school. More pity, more odd, curiously sympathetic stares. That eventually he might need a lung transplant that his father could in no way afford and, even if he managed it, he'd be in debt for the rest of his life. That even if he managed it there were still risks that didn’t make Stiles anymore confident about his chances at an extended life. That, sadly, getting said transplant was highly unlikely anyway and that his life expectancy of 27 might possibly end at seventeen—

"Eighteen," Stiles reminded himself aloud, remembering that it was birthday. He nervously fidgeted with the clip again, turning himself this way and that to see how the light shined on the cables hanging behind his ears. He hated it. With a heavy sigh, he went to lie down on his bed, dragging his oxygen tank behind him in its wheeled case. He let out another sigh, putting both hands over his face, and tried to shake all those thoughts out of his head. But everything was so… overwhelming. _What if I die at eighteen?_ he thought, holding his breath and chewing his bottom lip nervously as he tried to keep himself together. But after a few moments, unable to hold it in any longer, he let out a choked sob and felt tears fall beneath his thin fingers. He was crying, something he hadn't allowed himself to do in a long while, but he couldn't contain his emotions at that moment. He was _scared_.

Upon hearing the unfamiliar noise, The Sheriff slowly walked by his son's room and peeked into the door left ajar. Upon seeing the state of his son and wisdom from years of experience, closed the door.

 

Derek heard it before he even got out of his car: choked sobs and the strangled breaths he'd learned to familiarize with Stiles. This wasn't what he'd expected to arrive to on the boy’s birthday, to say the least. After Lydia's party, he'd spoken about his birthday with nothing but excitement—well, until he got the news about his oxygen count. He’d stopped talking about it all together then, clearly preoccupied with the more pressing matter. 

This proved to be a problem for Derek. He'd never encountered Stiles when he was sad before. Hell, he'd never seen him be anything other than mouthy and energetic before, the only time otherwise being when he yelled at his father in the hospital (and the aggravated texts Stiles sent him that same night). Derek sat in his car for a moment to think over his next move carefully. He considered just leaving, thinking that maybe Stiles needed to be alone, but then a better thought came to mind: _Fuck it_. He decided that Stiles’ crying was not something he enjoyed hearing. He made his way out of his car and over to the house to ring the doorbell.

The Sheriff opened the door and, with a squint of his eyes and a hint of recognition at the features his son so vividly described, asked "Derek, right?" The werewolf nodded. 

"Yes sir," he replied politely. Much nicer than he'd ever spoken to Stiles, honestly. "Would it be alright if I could see Stiles?" 

"Stiles isn't feeling well right now." The Sheriff replied automatically, ready to deter the wolf without hesitation. Derek gave a small nod.

"I know I can… hear that," Derek explained, gesturing slightly to his ears as he listened to Stiles' now muffled sobs. Face down in the pillow, no doubt. The Sheriff paused, thinking of what to say to the wolf to get him to leave, but (thinking better of himself) only sighed and invited Derek to sit in the kitchen with him so they could talk. 

Derek would be lying if he said he wasn't the slightest bit nervous. The two both sat at the kitchen table, The Sheriff across from Derek, and the interrogation began.

"You're twenty four?" The Sheriff started, that being the first problem he wanted to address.

"Yes sir," 

"A bit old don't you think?" He asked this only to see how Derek would respond.

"I… suppose. Maybe?" Derek told him unsurely.

"You haven't done anything _serious_ with Stiles have you?" Derek understood the implication.

"I've barely known him a month," Derek argued.

"Kids get up to more in lesser time,"

"No, sir." Derek stated firmly.

"Good answer." A beat, "what do you expect to get out of this?"

"Excuse me?" Derek tried not to sound offended, but he was sure that he failed.

"Seeing my son, what's your angle? Taking advantage of a sick patient?"

"No! That's… no. I just…" he didn't like the direction this conversation was going. "I like him," Derek admitted; even those simple words feeling too personal for him to admit.

"And he definitely likes you, too…" The Sheriff informed him, not pleased at all. "It worries me, if I’m being honest. Stiles moves fast with everything he does, but he’s… never been intimate with anyone before. This is all new to him and he's obviously crazy about you, despite it being ‘barely a month’,” The Sheriff mocked. “I don't want you pulling him in too deep before you decide to get out of it," Derek nodded, he understood. "He's young. And he's very sick… very convinced that he's going to die younger than expected... He's dark, but he's smart and outgoing and he handles it in his own way. But sometimes… he breaks." He paused, and the sound of Stiles’ crying grew painfully louder in the silence. 

"It's not often, but days like this _do_ happen more than he'd like them to. He hides all his feelings and plays everything off with sarcasm, but when it overwhelms him, he cries for a day. Though nobody would ever know it because he faces the next day pretending nothing happened. He's young, so actually talking about his feelings is some sign of weakness to him. So instead he has fun, lives in his head, finds distractions. Like _you_ , he hasn't stopped smiling since he met you… and I should thank you for that, but… he hasn't had the time to factor in heartbreak. He's never experienced a real relationship, he doesn't know how hard it'll hit him, and I don't want to wake up to hear my son crying for seven days instead of one. You understand?"

"It's not my intention to hurt Stiles like that. I'd never want to," Derek clarified, speaking honestly.

"Then make your intentions clear to him. Whatever they are," The Sheriff let out a heavy sighed, "I just want you to be careful with him. He's my only son,” he finished, giving Derek something to think about.

"…I will," Derek promised, though he wasn’t sure what his intentions were past “I like him.” The Sheriff was going to dismiss the wolf, but looking at his face more closely, he became curious.

“You look familiar,” The Sheriff noted, “I ever bring you into the station?” Derek nodded slowly, an uncomfortable frown beginning to form on his face.

“My last name is Hale,” Derek revealed, and The Sheriff’s face lit up with realization, remembering the young man from years ago. He gave Derek a small nod, deciding not to go further on the subject.

"Go on up then," He said, and Derek wasted no time leaving the table. 

Following the sound of Stiles’ sobs, Derek stood outside of his bedroom door. He didn't bother to knock, knowing Stiles probably wouldn't answer anyway, and just walked into the room. Stiles had his face buried in his pillow, like Derek suspected, arms clutching either side as he lied face down on the bed.

"Dad, go, please. I wanna be alone," he whined, voice muffled by the pillow, when he heard the door open.

"Hi," Derek greeted, and Stiles froze. Then came a muffled “fuck,” and the boy turned his body to face the wall.

"Derek," Stiles sniffed, voice much clearer (if not more shaky) as he moved the pillow beneath his head. "Hey. What you doing here?" He was wiping his face with his blanket and trying to keep his voice even.

"I just came to see you. It's your birthday," Derek explained.

"Right," Stiles sniffed. "Thanks, but, uh. I—I'm just… shit! Why'd you have to pick today to be nice?" Stiles complained, sitting up (back still turned to Derek) and pulling his oxygen tank onto the bed with him. Derek waited for Stiles to say something else, but he just kept his back turned without a word.

"...Can I sit next to you?" Derek asked, unsure of how to go about this.

"Sit at the desk," Stiles told him quickly, still wiping at his eyes. He didn't want Derek to see him like this. Derek did as instructed (seeing it as a good sign that Stiles didn't just toss him out) and tried to think of what to say next.

"No small talk today, huh?" Stiles asked, an attempt to tease but coming out in a small, disappointed voice.

"I just wanted to see you," Derek admitted.

"You said that," Stiles reminded, not understanding that Derek wanted to see him _just_ to see him.

"Why are you crying?" Derek changed the topic, not wanting to explain what Stiles wasn't getting and feeling the conversation would’ve gone in a circle if he tried.

"Because I have to wear this stupid tank for 24 hours a day. Or at least it feels like it. It's so… shit, Derek," Stiles complained. “I was telling you about it last week.”

"You'll be fine," Derek assured, that being the best thing he could come up with to try and raise Stiles’ spirits. It didn't help much.

“I won't, actually. But we both know that." And there it was, the morbid comment of the day Stiles had yet to verbalize. Derek sighed.

"Stiles," he called, the boy’s name always used as a word of warning whenever their conversations began to turn dark.

"I know, let's not talk about it. Sorry you had to see me like this, I just couldn't… whatever.” Stiles gave up on his train of thought, convinced that that train would lead him to saying things he'd rather keep private. “Talk to me," Stiles prompted instead, finally deciding to give Derek some leeway.

"Why's your back turned?" Derek asked, moving the desk chair closer to the bed. Stiles let out a sad chuckle.

"Because I look stupid," he said this as if it should be the most obvious thing in the world.

"No you don't," Derek told him. Stiles snorted.

"You haven't seen me. You don't know," he pointed out to the wolf.

"I've literally seen you cough until you've had spit dripping down your face. Can't get any stupider than that," Derek reminded, to which Stiles gave a sad smile.

"Yeah but… I feel like it,” he admitted. That was what mattered most at the moment.

 

" _Stiles_ ,"

"Okay, fine," he wiped his eyes once more and turned around to face the wolf. His eyes were puffy and his nose and cheeks were bright red. Derek could see where left over salt sat on his face and a few dried tear stains. There wasn't much different about him, though, aside from the nasal clip and cables hooked around his ears. It wasn't bad in the slightest.

Sighing, unable to take Derek's usual silence in stride, Stiles shyly covered his face with his hands again, briefly, before Derek began speaking.

"Hey, stop," He ordered, voice stern and eager to be listened to. "There's nothing wrong."

 

"… Why are you here?" Stiles asked a second time. Instead of Derek saying that he wanted to see him again (seeing as Stiles just _wasn’t getting it_ ), he opted for something else.

"Let's go out," Stiles looked up at the wolf, taken aback by the offer.

"What?" He asked incredulously.

"I promised you a real date when you turned eighteen, so… let’s go."

"Seriously?" Stiles wasn’t grasping anything about this situation. With the way he looked and the way he felt and Derek showing up out of nowhere… his head was spinning. Nothing was making sense.

"Yeah," Derek confirmed.

"With me wearing this?" Stiles needed clarification, validation—anything that could help him make sense of this.

"Come on, Stiles," Derek groaned, trying not to get annoyed with the boy in front of him.

"Imagine the looks we'll get… " Stiles’ voice trailed off as he did just that, mentally preparing himself for everyone’s stares as he walked down the street with Derek.

"Stiles," Derek repeated.

"I mean with me looking like this and you looking like that? What if your other werewolf friends see us?"

"Is that a yes?" Derek asked finally, tiring of all of Stiles’ “what if’s.”

"…Sure. Just let me get dressed." Derek stepped out of the room and went to wait downstairs, painfully aware of The Sheriff staring him down in an awkward silence. After a few minutes, Stiles came downstairs clad in dark jeans, a red hoodie—hood up—and a black backpack made for his oxygen tank. He looked to his father. "Derek's taking me out." The Sheriff nodded, not having much to say but glad Stiles was getting out, then Stiles gestured for Derek to follow him as he walked out the front door.

In his car, Derek noticed Stiles was shaking slightly as the he started the engine. "You're okay with this, right?" He asked, feeling like Stiles only agreed because _he_ had asked him, but would've denied if anyone else had.

"Yeah," his heartbeat sped up a bit. A lie. Before Derek could call him out on it, Stiles quickly interjected. "But can we just, like, _not_ go anywhere public. I mean—yeah, public, but not _filled_ with people, you know?" He sighed. "I'm not… ready for that yet."

"Okay," Derek agreed.

"We can hang out by the lake or something. It's still early, but the sun's setting, so I doubt there’ll be many people. And we can go through a drive through or whatever to get food afterwards…"

 

 

"You know, it's kind of not a date if you don't eat too," Stiles said as the two of them sat on the slightly damp ground by the lake and looked out over the water. Stiles was stuffing curly fries into his mouth while Derek watched. Not eating, just… observing.

"I'm not hungry," Derek assured him.

"This isn't you being a nurse and attempting to get me to gain weight, is it? Because I'm gonna need a hell of a lot more calories than this to get there, dude," he said, mouth full. Derek almost laughed.

"It's not," he assured the boy, "I'm not dedicating my life to secretly trying to make you maximum healthy."

"Good," Stiles said quickly. "You're probably the only one not trying to…" there was a silence between them, and Stiles stopped eating. “Look… sorry for today. I know this isn't exactly a 'real date' either, but… I'm a little 'off' today, obviously. He tugged at the cable behind his ear.“Maybe nature dates can be our thing,” He teased. “But I kinda wanted to be alone today."

"Sorry I forced you out then," Derek apologized with a frown, sincerely meaning it.

"Don't apologize, I'm glad you did. Whenever I get like this everyone just leaves me alone. I even tell Scott not to visit me for a few days—which is why he wasn't with me today—but even then… I kind of don't mean it. Like, yeah, I like to be alone when I'm upset but… I want someone to be alone _with_." A pause. Derek looked out over the water. "That doesn't make any sense. I don't know what I'm saying." Stiles added, unnerved by Derek’s silence, stuffing his mouth with fries again.

"Yes you do," Derek said, understanding what Stiles was trying to say even if the boy wasn’t sure himself.

"You know how Scott and I even became friends?” Stiles asked, quickly changing the subject. “We were, like, seven, and I was having a coughing fit on the playground. Like, a really bad one. So when I was done I just took these deep breaths trying to get the air back into me and Scott runs over, the two of us had never even talked before, and he gives me his inhaler, practically forcing it in my mouth! After I calmed down we sat on the swing set, and he starts telling me about how he has asthma too—he thought I had _asthma_!—and that he knew how scary it was not being able to breathe. He stayed with me for the rest of the day, telling me about how his dad was a ‘secret agent’ and making sure I was actually okay every time I coughed." Stiles laughed, looking back at the memory fondly. "He only became friends with me because he thought I had asthma! That's really funny… but when I told him that I actually had CF he became even _more_ attentive to me. He didn’t even know what it was, but even back then he just cared about people too much. What a loser," Stiles’ voice was full of endearment. "And as we got older his lungs got better and now I'm wearing this thing. At least Scott doesn't have to worry about carrying his inhaler around anymore," he let out a heavy sigh, then looked over at Derek. "Sorry. That was weird. I don't know why I told you that story. How about you tell me something?"

"Like what?"

"Like your last name. It's been a month and I haven't even asked it. Not to mention the time frame closed, but fuck it. I've already embarrassed myself, so why not? Anything else, too. I don't know anything about you, really. Other than the fact that you're a werewolf in the strange profession of nursing and that you look damn _fine_ in leather." Stiles was coming back to himself. Derek decided to play along if it got a smile on the boy's face again. 

"My last name is Hale. Anything else you want to know you're going to have to ask. I don't really talk about myself…” 

"Yeah! I've noticed that," Stiles chuckled. "Hale. Derek Hale. I could've sworn I heard that name before." Derek tensed a bit at that, unsure of what Stiles actually knew, but sure it wasn’t something he wanted to bring up. "Hale…" Stiles shrugged, tossing the thought to the side and figuring it would come to him later. "Whatever. I dig it. It has a ring to it. Like the male lead in a dystopian youth novel," Stiles teased. Derek rolled his eyes.

"Stiles Stilinski sounds pretty fictional too," Derek retorted.

"Yeah, but you have to remember my real name’s more complicated than that! Stiles is just a nickname from my last name. I learned early on not to let anyone endure the pain of trying to pronounce my birth name," Stiles explained.

"Uh-huh,"

"Hey, my name has a z in the middle of it! You wouldn't know what to do with that! I'm sparing everyone. And, hey," he hit the werewolf's leg. "This was supposed to be about you, not me. Spill."

"Spill what?"

"Anything. Tell me about your family," Stiles suggested.

"No," Derek shut down quickly. That was not a topic he would talk to _anyone_ about.

"Why'd you become a nurse, then?" This was at least the fifth time Stiles had asked this, and he was sure he was going to get the same answer, but hoped that he wouldn’t.

"Because I wanted to," Derek wouldn’t admit that he he got some type satisfaction by telling Stiles that every time he asked about his career choice. But he did.

"You're making this complicated," Stiles whined.

"Sorry,"

"Marvel or DC?" Stiles opted, deciding less personal questions were the way to go.

"DC. They have better stories, darker themes. It's better," Derek answered quickly. Stiles smiled.

"I like Marvel, but what does DC have that drew you into the dark side? Batman, right? _Martha_ , and all that."

" _No._ Well, yes, but not about the Martha thing. Growing up I just really liked Superman. That's all," Derek clarified.

"So… it's all secretly leading back to 'Martha', huh? Is your mom named Martha too?" Stiles teased.

"Shut up, Stiles."

"Okay, I'm kidding!" He snorted as he laughed, making Derek smile at the goofiness this boy possessed. That he was making Stiles feel better. "That looks really good on you," Stiles told him when he settled, goofy smile still on his face. Derek scoffed.

"The jacket again? Really? That's all you can talk about sometimes." Derek wore his jacket quite a lot, not admitting to himself that it was an aesthetic thing, and Stiles always had to drool over it, throwing out compliments and suggestive comments at least every hour. But to Derek’s surprise, Stiles shook his head no.

"No. I mean your smile. You don't do it enough, not a genuine one, like this. It's nice… you have a nice smile," Stiles complemented, looking at Derek adoringly. Too adoringly. Derek didn’t know what to say.

"Thanks..." the wolf replied, deciding to just take the compliment.

"I take back what I said earlier, this is a real date." Stiles told him. "It's kinda weird, but I feel like eating from the dollar menu at _McDonald's_ would feel like a real date with you, and this is definitely a step up from that." Derek nodded, not trying to think about what the sheriff had said about Stiles falling too hard earlier. 

"Right," He agreed.

 

"So," Stiles started, changing the subject. "What was high school like for you? I bet you were a stud in that leather jacket. Or at least had an obsession with The Fonz, right?"


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been awhile. My bad.

Derek returned to his apartment agitated and conflicted after his date with Stiles. He entered his apartment uncharacteristically distracted, paying no attention to the two teenagers sat on his couch, and darted toward his bedroom. without a glance at them. With a heavy sigh, he sat on his bed. He needed to figure this out.

“Um,” Derek heard someone say from the living room. “I’ll be right back.” Soft footsteps could be heard now. She was coming toward the bedroom. Derek wasn’t in the mood to talk.

A knock sounded at the door, though Derek didn’t see the point of why. They both knew she was just going to barge in anyway. So, instead of inviting her in, he lied down on his bed, arms crossed over his chest, and let out another sigh. That was her cue to come in.

“Hey,” greeted Cora, Derek’s younger sister. Stepping inside, she closed the door behind her, but stayed put in front of it. She knew Derek would prefer if she kept her physical distance. He would prefer she kept her emotional distance, too, but he couldn’t get _everything_ he wanted.

Derek returned her greeting with a low grunt, gaze fixated on the ceiling. She wasn’t surprised. “Right,” she said. "So, what's got you all…” she gesticulated wildly in a circular motion toward Derek, summing up his presence and the distressed scent he was giving off. "Caught up?" She knew it was best not to call out any particular emotions unless she wanted Derek to end the conversation before it even started. Derek shrugged, not even attempting to provide an answer.

It was Cora’s turn to sigh. “Look, I have a boy out there and I’m cutting away time from him to give to you. So, help me out.” She tried reasoning. Cora had never brought a boy over, especially not a human one (which Derek noticed when Cora closed his door). He could tell that this was something important to Cora, despite if he didn’t like the idea of her being alone with a boy. 

“Go back out there then,” Derek told her, hoping she’d choose the out. He wasn’t ready to talk yet. Cora shook her head and finally moved from the door, opting to sit next to Derek on the bed.

“You smell weird,” she said finally, using it as both a reason to stay and opting to get to the point. When Derek didn’t say anything, she decided to shift the conversation in a different direction. “ _Okay_ , so when am I gonna meet the guy you're dating, then?”

"Stop," Derek warned. That sparked something. It was a small victory in her eyes, but she hadn't moved the conversation far enough to actually get him talking. She decided to stay on the topic regardless. Her curiosity about her brother’s personal life had gotten the better of her.

“So you're caught up about _him_? Must be serious.” She added.

“ _Stop_ ,” Derek repeated more firmly. Cora let out an exasperated groan.

"You stop," she retorted rather childishly, much to Derek's confusion.

"Stop… what?" He asked. Cora rolled her eyes and went to sit next to him on the bed.

 

"Stop being so annoying and just _talk_ to me for once," she complained, a harshness edging into her voice. It was Derek's turn to roll his eyes. 

"No thanks," he told her, shutting the conversation down and making a move to stand up—to escape to the bathroom or the kitchen, _anywhere_ to avoid this conversation—only to be halted when Cora outstretched her legs across his.

"Fine. _I'll_ talk then.” _Oh God_. “That kid out there is this senior named Isaac. I don't really know if I like him, but he’s been flirting with me a lot. He's kind of shy—and that's annoying—but he plays lacrosse and—" Derek stopped listening, knowing his sister would go on and on with her list of pros and cons. He fell back into his own thoughts and, afterwards, he realized that he had rather listened to Cora’s.

Not that his thoughts were bad—not that _Stiles_ was bad—he was just so _confused_! He hated it! He’d never been so conflicted… 

After their date at the lake, he’d taken Stiles home, ending their date with a brief (and tentative) make out session in Derek’s car. Stiles gave Derek hesitant, sloppy kisses. He was unconfident as he toyed with the wires behind his ears, but Derek responded accordingly, kissing him slowly until Stiles felt comfortable—though they were cut short by The Sheriff knocking on the window and signaling for Stiles to get out.

Stiles gave him one last brief kiss, then hopped out of the car. Before going inside his house, though, he signaled for Derek to lower the passenger window so that he could tell him one last thing.

“Hey, thanks. I keep saying that, I realize, _sorry_ , but… I mean it. I was gonna just spend my birthday alone and sulking and you… you made it better. I…” he paused to think over his words for once. He shook his head. “Nothing. Thanks.” Then the boy hurried into his house. Derek looked after him, not able to say anything more before he left. The Sheriff was still there, though, and he took his opportunity to talk to Derek, too.

"You make your intentions clear?" Asked The Sheriff plainly. Derek only looked at him (what he feared was) dumbly. How was he supposed to make his intentions clear when he wasn't even certain of what all this was yet? He liked Stiles, he was _dating_ Stiles, couldn't that be enough? He was sure that he was too young to have “intentions,” and Stiles even younger. That was probably why The Sheriff was so persistent.  
In the end, he told The Sheriff that yes, he had, though the look on the man’s face showed that he wasn't convinced. Derek didn't care at that moment. He needed to think everything over.

He thought about what The Sheriff had implied earlier that day, that he was only taking advantage of a sick patient. But Derek wasn't… a bad person, to say the least. He loved nursing (he really did) and Stiles just… happened. Asking Stiles out wasn't planned, he just saw something he liked— _someone_ he liked, which was rare—and he went for it. Did he regret it? No, not in the slightest. Stiles was a welcome occurrence in Derek's life and there was never time spent with him where he didn't enjoy the boy's company. But then he had to factor in what all this was for Stiles. The way Stiles looked at Derek sometimes, like tonight at the lake—like he’d hung the moon—made Derek nervous. 

He didn’t know what was going on in Stiles’ head and _that_ was the worst part about all this.

 

"Derek!” Cora snapped when she realized Derek wasn’t paying attention. “Jesus, at least pay attention when I talk! I barely see you anymore, you can _at least_ pretend to care.” Derek silently admitted that she had a point. His job at Beacon Hills Memorial had definitely taken up a good majority of time that was previously spent between just the two of them. Now a large portion of his free time had been given to Stiles, unintentionally leaving barely any for his sister. But he _cared_. He cared about her more than anyone. 

"Don't say that," Derek told her gently. He loved her, he just wasn't keen on showing it. She shoved his shoulder.

"Then tell me about the guy you've been dating!" She demanded again. Derek let out an annoyed groan, giving in to the guilting sixteen-year-old. In his own way, of course.

"He's younger than me,” Derek began, giving the bare minimum of information he could.

"Okay,"

"He's human,"

"Obviously,"

"He likes Marvel more than DC,"

"Derek!" She groaned, annoyed with how this conversation was turning out. "Give me real details!" She demanded, but Derek stayed quiet. He didn’t want to give his sister the more personal information about Stiles, or what he thought about him, or what he looked like. He knew they both went to the same school—she didn't—and if he wasn't too busy mingling with patients all day, he was sure she would have sniffed him out by now. He knew if he told her about Stiles that would mean unwanted attention for him… or for Cora to be outed as a werewolf because of the fact. He decided not to tell her, for both of their benefits. And because he really didn't want to talk about his sick, human boyfriend.

"You should go back to out your boyfriend," he suggested, promptly ending the conversation. Cora huffed and angrily stood up from the bed. 

"You're such a stubborn ass sometimes," she told him as she exited the room, roughly slamming the door behind her.

"Look who's talking…” Derek called after her softly, knowing she’d hear him. He and Cora were one in the same in that way, sharing a temper and came off as rude or stubborn to just about everyone else (they called it “being assertive”). It led to them being disliked, to say the least, but Cora more so than Derek. Where Derek had learned to show caution, maturity, empathy, Cora was reckless, headstrong, and opinionated. Derek loved that about her.

Once Derek heard Cora plop herself back onto the sofa, he doubted she was coming back. He could hear her and the boy she’d brought jump into a conversation, though he tried not to listen in. He’d give her her privacy even if she wouldn’t give him his. Fixating his gaze back at the ceiling, he fell back into his thoughts. He was going to sort all this out _tonight_. He didn’t like what he was feeling.

Before he could, though, he felt his phone buzz in his pocket. He had a feeling he knew who it was. Taking his phone out of his pocket, he saw that he was right. A message from Stiles shone bright across the screen.

**Hey Sourwolf, now that I'm eighteen we can totally Netflix AND chill ;)**

Another was sent a moment later.

**Or not. I hope you know I was kidding. It's hard to convey sarcasm over text.**

Derek smiled, despite himself, and replied.

**_I know._ **

A reply came a second later.

**Oh good! Thank GOD you're awake, dude, I'm having a hard time falling asleep**

**_Something on your mind?_ **

**yeah. U actually**

Derek didn’t know exactly what to say to that, so he settled for something mutual.

**_Okay._ **

**that's not how you're supposed to respond when someone says that. Be more excited!!!!**

 

Derek tried.

**_OKAY???_ **

**ok nvm. The caps make it weird**

 

**_Okay._ **

**calm down, Augustus Waters. Say something else to me**

**_Like?_ **

 

**ask me why I was thinking about you**

**_"Why were you thinking about me?"_ **

**cuz you're HOT**

Derek rolled his eyes. 

**_Very insightful._ **

****did you sit in a pile of sugar?** **

****_What?_ ** **

**Stiles: **cuz you got a SWEET ASS ;)****

Derek couldn’t help but laugh at that.

**_Wow!_ **   
**_That was terrible!_ **

****I like you** **

That’s redundant, Derek thought.

**_I know._** , he replied.

****I really like you** **

That’s worrisome.

**_I know…_ **

****I'm gonna call** **

His phone rang a moment later, a picture of Stiles with a goofy grin filled the screen. Stiles insisted that Derek use that picture. 

"Hello?" 

" _Hey, Derek_ ," Stiles' voice sounded a bit groggy, like he had gone to sleep already but had woken up. 

"Hey." 

" _I, uh_ ” He paused, thinking over his words. It worried Derek, honestly. “ _I can’t sleep_ ,” he finally said, though Derek didn’t think that this was what the call was about. He played along anyway. 

“You said that,” Derek reminded. There was another pause, another silence that made Derek uncomfortable. Something was wrong. “Stiles?” 

“ _Right, my dad talked to me. He told me that, um… well, none of the minor details matter but… he mentioned the thing about you. Your last name. **Hale**_ ,” Derek didn’t like where this was going. “ _The fire_.” Stiles finished, letting out a relieved sigh after he said it. Derek drew in a deep breath, tensing up at the memory. _Of course_ The Sheriff had told him. 

" _I won't ever bring it up again_!” Stiles added, knowing this was something he shouldn’t have called about. “ _I mean, I won’t talk about it unless you **want** to. I can only imagine how that felt, losing your—_ " 

"Stiles," Derek did not want to talk about this. He never talked about this. 

" _I lost my mom when I was nine_.” Stiles told him, voice shaky, “ _She was sick, too. Like me. Different circumstance from your thing, I know, but… I get it. Kind of, I guess. I know I can’t relate exactly to what you went through—it’s awful—but if you ever need to talk about death, believe me, I get it_." 

"Stiles…" 

"The school counselor told me—Scott and I had to do grief counseling after Allison died—she told me this thing that Winston Churchill said. 'If you're going through hell, keep going.' I didn't get it back then, but now knowing you and the way you are and what you've experienced… you're practically the embodiment of that quote." 

"Oh,” Derek didn’t want to talk about this anymore. 

" _I like you. You can… talk about this stuff, okay_?" 

"Yeah," Derek said, voice no higher than a mumble. He’d remember that. 

" _You're welcome_ ," Stiles said when he realized Derek wasn’t going to say more. 

"Thanks." 

" _I'm gonna try and sleep now. Night_." 

"Goodnight," he hung up. 

Derek sat on his bed, taking in what Stiles had called to say. Stiles really liked him, and he didn't even know the entirety of Derek's baggage. The door to his room opened again and there was Cora in the doorway with a surprised face.

"I heard," She told him, offering no explanation of why she was listening. 

"Of course you did,” Derek scoffed. “What happened to Isaac?” Cora eased her way into the room, again joining Derek on the bed. 

“Told him to go home, I was too pissed at you,” she explained. “And it was easier to listen to your conversation without a third voice,” she added with a bit of a smirk. "But _Stiles_ , though," 

"Yeah," Derek said. 

"That's the kid who's friends with the lacrosse captain. I see them together all the time," Cora told him.

"Your point?" Derek asked dismissively. Cora’s teasing expression swiftly fell into her usual serious one.

"He's sick," she pointed out. 

" _Wow_. Thanks for telling me, Cora, I couldn’t tell," 

"Like, he's never got enough air in his body, sick," 

"I know, Cora." 

"Of course you’d pick him out of everyone,” Derek didn’t respond to that. He knew the point she was trying to make. Cora continued. “You sure you can handle this Derek?" Derek stayed silent. "I'm just asking. Making sure. You know, because I love you and all that." 

"Yeah, I know."

"He seems nice." 

"He is," Derek agreed. 

"But I don't think this is going to end well for you, Derek." 

"…" 

"I just hope you can handle it when it happens." And with that she left, only giving Derek more to think about that night. 


End file.
